


Strawberry Days

by TheArtfulDodger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamort, Bits of humor, Dark Thoughts, F/M, Mentions of Abortion, Mentions of Mental Illness, Oral Sex, Poor thing, bit of voyerism, blowjob, clit piercing, ends crack, ends cute, except Narcissa, mentions of pegging, non graphic torture, pornographic photo, probably everyone is OOC by the end, sex interrupted, sex on a desk, starts really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtfulDodger/pseuds/TheArtfulDodger
Summary: As an exhausted Bellatrix sleeps on the Death Eater conference table, Voldemort has the chance to evaluate their lengthy relationship. Somehow he ends up contemplating whether he loves her or not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarzipanLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzipanLady/gifts).

> So, I started this fic really depressed, but by the time I finished it many months later my new meds were working great and they made Bellamort pull a prank on Narcissa at the end. Can't say I'm sorry, just fair working for the change in mood. 
> 
> This was written for MarzipanLady who had the very valid wish to see Bellamort fuck on Narcissa's desk. Go check out her amazing art!

It took Voldemort a minute to notice that the drawing room was already occupied when he walked in. Well, almost.

Bellatrix was sleeping with her head in her arms, her long black hair obscuring her face, rising and falling with each breath.

The next Death Eater meeting was set for eight o’clock, meaning there were two more hours that Bellatrix could be using to her leisure, but Voldemort knew why she had arrived so early she fell asleep.

In the last meeting a week ago Bellatrix had been a no-show.

His followers had not mentioned it and neither had he, but her chair had remained empty for the entire two hours. Important information had been revealed, opinions had been exchanged, missions had been assigned, and Bellatrix had been omitted completely. Lord Voldemort never waited for anyone.

In the three decades they had known each other, Bella had never stood him up, not once. Ill or injured, she always showed up when he called for her; she would not miss a meeting for anything in the world. This meant she was either dead, captured or… unaware. And he would have felt her death and she would have let him know via the Mark had she been captured.

He had been furious. 

And yet, deep down he hoped the Death Eaters believed her to be on a secret mission, not a nervous wreck unable to retain simple information, like when and where a meeting is. 

After everyone had been dismissed and the Malfoys had left for a night out (an idea he had planted in Narcissa’s mind himself), Voldemort had climbed up the stairs to Bella’s bedroom, where he too spent most of his nights, despite being granted the master bedroom that the Malfoy couple had been using up until his arrival.

He had found Bellatrix in a nervous mood. 

She had remembered a book she had enjoyed as a teenager and had turned the room upside down to find it, with no success. When he knocked on the door, she had greeted him from the floor, where she was elbow-deep in her school bag. The serpent on Slytherin’s emblem she had drawn on the bag stirred and its eyes glinted emerald green, forcing a hiss out of his lipless mouth.

“Master!” she wheezed, looking up at him. “I was about to come find you!”

“Where have you been, Bellatrix?”

“I… Here, I’ve been here,” she said, slightly worried since he was using her full name. “Remember that Claudia Smythers book I used to drag around everywhere as a kid? _Temptations of Magic, _was is? I’ve been looking for it-”

“Who cares, Bella, why did you pass on the meeting?”

“What meeting?” she said, distracted by whatever her fingers were encountering in the depths of the schoolbag. “It was a really good book. Do you think I might have left it at your house?”

“Forget about the fucking book!” Voldemort hissed louder than he wanted to. “And stop fisting that goddamn bag and focus! There was a meeting today, down in the drawing room. Why did you not come?”

“There was?” Bellatrix’s eyes opened wide. “Well, there’s the regular meeting tomorrow on Tuesday, and then we agreed to talk about Draco’s Occlumency lessons on Friday, and there’s also-”

“Bella,” he interrupted her ramblings, barely able to control his temper, “what day is it, my dear?”

“Monday,” she answered promptly. “Monday because we had yogurt with mangoes for breakfast...” she trailed off, her eyes opening widely as realization struck her.

“We did not have mangoes for breakfast, did we?”

“No, we did not. Tuesdays are strawberry days.”

“Oh, no,” Bellatrix whispered in shock, and her body went limp instantly. The schoolbag slipped down her dress and onto the floor, so that the painted snake appeared to have a broken neck. 

“Oh, my Lord, I am so sorry, I did not remember, I was confused, please don’t punish me!”

She had thrown herself at his feet, crying hysterically, broken words like ‘plans’ and ‘forgive me’ distinguishable now and then.

Voldemort shook his head. He was not looking at her convulsing body when he hissed _“Crucio.”_

* * *

They had not talked about this again. Draco’s lessons had been discussed in a sterile way a few days later and they would only exchange typical words during meals.

Voldemort had not come to find her in her bedroom either. He told himself he was punishing Bellatrix for her weakness by depriving her from the only pleasure she was left after prison. 

It was true; all the things that Bella had enjoyed and excelled at as a young woman (writing, reading, duelling, playing music) required a mental capacity and attention span that were beyond her current capabilities, leaving sex as her sole comfort and area of expertise. For Voldemort, who usually viewed women as irrelevant objects of occasional desire and who rarely felt anything close to sadness, it was heartbreaking. And this, in turn, angered him. 

Secretly, however, he was worried he might snap at her when alone. Once, soon after they had reached a point in their relationship where they were very comfortable with each other, she had become so cheeky, he had nearly choked her out in a rage. It had been traumatic for both of them then, and it would surely kill her now.

_At least she’s trying, _he thought to himself, observing the woman’s sleeping form, before realizing that he was using a phrase he hated.

_Effort is not enough, excuses are irrelevant, results at any cost is all that matters._

That’s the motto he lived by and what he drilled into his students’ minds when he finally agreed to take them on. Bellatrix, his best, favourite student, knew this better than anyone.

His index pulled up a strand of shiny hair, one of the few traits of the former beauty that had survived Azkaban, so that Voldemort could observe Bella’s face. No wonder she was sleeping in the middle of the day, she looked exhausted: hollow cheeks, cracked lips, the skin under her eyes a deep purple. She had probably not slept restfully ever since the incident the week before; passing out from the torture aside, that is.

He should let her rest. 

Voldemort knew that Bella would be quite uncomfortable when she woke up, but getting some sleep was more important at this point. He knew this, for he himself had slept plenty of times at a desk, a book as his pillows. As a young boy he had kept books for a pawn shop to make some money, a job that often trailed into the night, while as a student at Hogwarts he would opt out of sleep in favour of more knowledge, more useful information, more magical secrets. 

Even these days, at seventy years old, he would sometimes bring a glass of gin (an old habit of slum life he could not shed) and a good book to Bella’s bedroom and watch her sleep, inevitably falling asleep himself on her coffee table. Thankfully, Bella always slept in late, way past the first sunshine that roused him, so she would never find out.

Voldemort leaned closer to the woman’s face. He could almost feel her skin, so different from what it used to feel like. It had been like satin, shiny and smooth and smelling of roses. Now, on the days Narcissa was not looking after her, it was rough like paper, peeling off with the slightest irritation. Another tiny problem added to a pile of small and big problems, tormenting her day and night, threatening to break the delicate dam of mental stability they had struggled so much to construct.

The texture of her skin did not matter to him. She still aroused him deeply, a fact that surprised him, considering he had always prided himself on pursuing only the most beautiful, most desirable women around him. 

All he cared about these days was the boy, Dumbledore kicking the fucking bucket, and taking over the Ministry. And Bella getting healthy again.

His finger moved past Bella’s shoulder, bringing a thick lock of hair to the other side of her face, exposing her neck. It was still as elegant as it had been back in the day, when it had been bound by precious gems and framed by gorgeous gowns. However, even in her days of greatest pain, Bella always took care of things that bothered him and was now wearing a broad, velvet choker to cover up the runes that had been permanently inked to her skin by the Aurors, before being thrown into a tiny cell for more than ten years.

It made him sick to imagine her tied down, mad with grief, one Auror holding her head in place, the other branding her like he had, while he was far away, less than a ghost, unable to stop her violation.

In fact, they had argued a lot about this. He found it disgusting, disfiguring even, while Bellatrix saw it as another battle scar, a medal for her service, to be exhibited and admired by her peers. In the end, as always, things had gone his way, and since then Bella covered up the tattoo, one way or the other.

_She is doing her best, _Voldemort found himself repeating. 

_But it’s not enough._

He stared at her neck, offered to him like a victim to her executioner.

He could kill her. Right now, right here. 

Break her neck. She would never know, probably wouldn’t feel it either. Or the Avada Kedavra, just to be sure. It would be quick and painless, a peaceful end to her long suffering. 

No one would know. Bellatrix had been ill since she came out of prison and pneumonia is a sneaky bastard. Even if people had doubts, they certainly would not dare express them for fear of ‘getting pneumonia’ too. It was none of their business anyway.

Bellatrix was his; he had become her Master under the ancient ritual of Apprenticeship, when Bellatrix had given herself up to him completely and voluntarily. She still spoke of that day as the best of her life, in a manner most people, Voldemort thought, talked about their wedding day. She knew he had the right to end her life. 

And then what? She would no longer suffer due to this invisible vise that had taken hold of her mind and body. And he would be free. Free to pursue his ambitions without distractions and conflicting emotions over the useless follower whose health problems kept him awake at night.

Of course, he would miss the sex, but he could get that anywhere. 

Or could he? Bellatrix was unlike any other woman he had ever met. Where other women found him too dominating, too aggressive, Bella squealed in delight and urged him for more. For a man as self-obsessed as he was, hearing her gasp his name in ecstasy every time they were together, or seeing her eyes light up with gratitude when he allowed her to sleep next to him afterwards was a great satisfaction that he doubted would grow old.

And there were other things… Things he would never allow anyone else do to him, but he craved deeply and felt comfortable enough to ask from Bella.

_To kill or not to kill, that is the question._

His fingertips touched her gaunt cheek lightly. Bella did not stir. She would not move unless he shook her awake.

A phrase sprang into mind: _Love is to give someone the power to destroy you, but trusting them they won’t._

Where had he heard that nonsense? 

Bella often said she loved him and it was always in such an off-hand manner that it would leave him flabbergasted.

_Mrs. Zabini looks way too jolly for a widow, doesn’t she? I love you so much, I don’t think I’d be able to function if you died.”_

Or:_ “My sister seems to think that being in love with you is a choice. She thinks that I’d get better instantly if I just extinguished my emotions for you like blowing off a candle and spontaneously developed some for my husband.”_

This was the kind of thing she would say, and Voldemort never knew how to answer; if Bella was expecting some sort of answer, that is.

She certainly had given him the power to destroy her in every way. And she let him hold that power without a second thought, without a doubt that he wished her well. Or was it she did not care what he did to her?

Physically she was exposed to him right now and every night they spent together. He often fixed her medicinal potions too. One drop of poison in her antipsychotic and she would be dead in seconds.

He knew all her secrets. She always confided everything to him. The little girl had confessed the violence her parents subjected her to for the crime of not being the male heir they needed. He was the only one to see her cry when her sister ran away. And he had been the one to stand guard by the door when she had swallowed the herbicide to kill her husband’s baby that was growing inside her. 

These days she was telling him every day how useless she felt, how she wanted to go back into battle, earn her name back, do something for him other than being his _whore _\- another term she frequently used with little concern that made his blood boil.

By the quote’s standards she really did love him.

_Did he love her? _

Theoretically Bella had ample chance to kill him. Smother him with a pillow after granting him a hardcore BDSM scene that had tired him out. Or offer him a spiked glass of gin; Nagini’s venom might have saved his life in potion form, but Bellatrix had her own beloved collection of poisons locked away in the dungeons.

He could not die, of course, and Bella, though hazy on the details, knew that, but he had taught her to press on regardless to reach her goal, and killing his physical body would be the first step if she honestly wanted him destroyed.

When they had started sharing their everyday life decades ago, Voldemort had noticed how far more relaxed he was around her, even letting her stay in bed with him while he slept instead of kicking her out after he was done with her. He always felt so comfortable around her. Was it because she loved him? Or because... he loved her?

On the other hand, Voldemort had many secrets that he had not shared with her, nor was he ever planning to. He refused to remind even himself of many details of his dickensian childhood, though Bella knew that he had had a rough start at life. She knew, of course, a bit on his quest to immortality too, but not much. And he would never tell her the secret behind Nagini’s origin; he ignored the fact that the only reason for not sharing was that it would probably break her heart beyond repair.

_No, I do not love her, _he concluded.

Slowly, Voldemort put his hand over Bella’s nose and face, obstructing her breathing.

Her reaction was instant. 

“My Lord!” she woke up with a start, coughing a bit.

“You fell asleep on the table,” he informed her of the obvious, rising back to his full height.

“I… Yes… Just to make sure...” Bella muttered. 

“Did you get some rest?”

“Surprisingly, yes. My back hurts a bit, though.”

“That, it will, for a while.”

They locked eyes, silence engulfing the room. Finally Bella stumbled to her feet.

“I should go back to my seat,” she said, casting her gaze low. 

Only now did Voldemort notice that she was sat on her old seat, directly to his right. In recent meetings he would always send her down the other half of the table, demonstrating to her peers how she had fallen out of favour. It was her greatest shame, Severus Snape occupying her usual position.

“Wait,” Voldemort said, before his brain had enough time to make a rational decision.

Her eyes opened wide, hope bursting inside her chest.

“You can stay.”

“Oh, Master, thank you,” she whispered, and Voldemort did not miss the shiny tears in her eyes.

“No need to thank me, this is your seat.”

It was the truth, he thought, as Bellatrix blabbered thanks and tried to kiss his hand. 

He did not love her, but he was devoted to her, he realized. They were stuck together, and the prospect did not trouble him in the least.

“This will always be your rightful place,” he said softly.

Bellatrix, who had been kissing the palm of his hand, let out a childish shriek of excitement and started biting his jaw, her hands fiddling with his belt buckle.

“Not now, that is not the reason I-”

“I know,” she breathed in his ear with a wicked smile before dropping to her knees. “But, you see, I just got promoted at work and I want to celebrate.”

"So I heard," Voldemort said drily, as Bella's wet tongue started teasing his cock.

The speed in which he was getting a hard-on was alarming; as was how deeply Bella could stuff things down her larynx without gagging.

“Besides, turns out my lover has been a bit grumpy these last few days...” Bella said, between very soft bites up and down his shaft, the ones she knew drove him up the wall.

"Has he now?"

He was barely able to keep his composure. He pushed her head on his cock and kept her still by the hair.

"What a fool...”

Bellatrix, her face pressed against his pubic area, her mouth full of cock, somehow managed to look serious when she turned her gaze up to meet his eyes.

_“He had his reasons. But I need sex,”_ she replied telepathically, through the Mark, and Voldemort hoped with all his might that no Death Eater was tuned in at the moment. 

“What about your husband?”

Bellatrix removed his cock from her mouth with a pop, a sound that always made her giggle.

“What husband?”

Voldemort let out a sharp laugh and lifted her onto the table, frantically messing around her skirts.

“Goddamn it,” he hissed in annoyance.

Bellatrix pushed his hands away and hiked up her dress and petticoats herself, spreading her legs in a perfect split. 

Only now, faced with the shiny pinkness between those legs, did Voldemort realise how hard Bella’s punishment had been on himself too. Cock ready in hand, he slid inside her with a single, powerful thrust. Bellatrix started to moan instantly and even Voldemort, who was usually very quiet, was letting a few groans escape him.

After several feverish thrusts, Voldemort stood a little straighter; he wanted to admire the view.

“Show me,” he growled, waving a hand over her general chest area, which was still covered by frustrating layers of fabric.

“Can't, I'll lose my balance,” Bella ignored him, her fingernails cutting into his shoulders as she held onto him firmly with both arms. “Don’t stop-”

Voldemort grabbed her by the nape of her neck and forced her to bend over the table. 

Bella let out a cry of annoyance over not having him inside her for one whole second, which turned into a loud moan when he slid his hand down her collar and squeezed on her breasts.

This was much easier for both, and Voldemort picked up rhythm quickly, pushing in deep, then pulling out almost completely, again and again, never missing aim at that sweet spot which he knew made her see stars.

He was getting close too, judging by the tingling ball of warmth that was pulsating in his crotch, sending jolts of pleasure up and down his body. He gritted his teeth so he would not come before Bella started calling his name.

It did not take long. Bella let go of herself completely, collapsing on the table, allowing him to rock her onto his pelvis, fucking her insides raw.

"M-Mast...Master! Master!"

The desperate cry of ecstasy came as his cue to allow his own release. He buried himself inside her to the hilt, one hand fingering her clit madly, the other constricting her throat. No more sounds came from her, but she continued mouthing his name as she squirmed out of pleasure and lack of oxygen. Hot loads of come shot out him and he tensed up completely, groaning in the crook of her neck, letting the wonderful sensation flood him.

"_Belle_..."

The word escaped his mouth in a daze, making Bella orgasm again in delight. Her warm walls contracted around him, confusing his cock that had thought there was no more come to give, but he was evidently wrong, because another wave of bliss seared through him and he thought he might lose his footing-

"BELLA!"

The cry of indignation brought Voldemort back to reality in the cruelest way possible.

A dozen Death Eaters led by Narcissa Malfoy were standing at the drawing room's threshold. Their faces demonstrated a spectrum of emotions ranging from embarrassment to disgust to horror, as they took in the sight before them: Bellatrix was face down on the long conference table, her breasts and legs exposed through her torn dress with Voldemort's cock barely visible in the swollen, shiny pussy, as he choked her from behind.

Voldemort let go of her instantly, but, to his horror, he could not help his hips from thrusting a few more times, draining his balls, even if he was not aroused at all anymore. Bella however continued swaying her hips on his cock, moans still escaping her, until she was completely satisfied.

"And I'm done!" she announced to the thunderstruck audience, who could have clearly figured that out for themselves.

Bellatrix disengaged herself from his hands and cock, and started tidying herself up as usual, as if no one was watching; putting her underwear back on, smoothing out her skirt and stuffing her breasts out of sight. She even lent in to give him the little jaw bite she always gave him after sex. All the while she was making sure to look her sister dead in the eye. 

The gesture was very clear.

_Told you so!_

The triumph in Bella’s eyes was hard to miss, even for Voldemort’s embarrassed, confused brain. His lover also seemed particularly smug that all the male Death Eaters, unpleasant as she might find them, had raging boners. 

“Enough.”

_E for Exceeds Expectations, _he thought at the comical way Bella’s lips twitched, as she oscillated between the deep-seated need to follow his orders and the urge to laugh out madly. 

“Enough,” he repeated, and even the most aroused Death Eater pulled himself together.

Having re-established control, Voldemort proceeded with the most undignified task: putting his flaccid penis back in his trousers. 

“Now, you,” he indicated the group of gawkers, “line up.”

Where there had been surprise and disgust, now there was pure terror.

“Master- Master you can’t- We promise we shall say nothing-”

One of the Death Eaters had even fallen to his knees; Narcissa was crying. 

“My Lord, I-” Bella muttered.

“I said, line up! All of you!”

“Master, please!” 

Bellatrix had thrown herself between the Dark Lord and Narcissa, her eyes pleading. 

“I won’t hear it, Bella! Step aside!”

“Just a moment, please! Don’t punish Narcissa, I need her to remember this!”

“And _I _need her to forget this!”

“You don’t understand, she’s under the impression that I’m forcing you into this!”

“Into what?”

“This…” Bella gestured at the lower parts of their bodies. 

“Oh.” 

Voldemort seemed to be thinking hard. 

“Do I look like the sort of person who can be forced into doing anything he does not wish to? Anything _at all_?”

He was speaking accusingly to Narcissa now, who had shrunk back to the wall of her own home. 

“N-No, my Lord,” the woman whispered.

“And do I look like the sort of person who subjects himself to frivolous activities?”

“No, my Lord,” Narcissa shook her head with such rigor that strands of hair whipped Voldemort in the face. 

“Then, Narcissa, I see no reason for you failing to understand the depth of this relationship-”

“-oh, yes, quite the _depth-_”

“Silence, Bella!”

Bellatrix fell silent instantly, her eyes laughing. 

Voldemort’s fiery eyes travelled across the terrified faces of his followers, who looked like first-graders being told off by the teacher for messing around the classroom. 

“I want you all to listen to me very carefully, because I shall never say this again.”

Everyone held their breaths, Bellatrix included. 

“I let this woman top me more often than I top her.” 

And before the shock could register on their faces, Voldemort had reached for his wand and Obliviated them. 

* * *

“It’s very sweet what you did today,” Bella said later that night, as they were getting up from a late dinner. 

“Merely wanted to shock them,” Voldemort hissed, dignified.

“Of course you did,” she nodded and was about to pout, when she noticed Voldemort’s broad grin and she broke into an even bigger smile herself. 

He offered her his arm and she took it, allowing him to lead them out of the small dining room and down the corridor, towards their adjoining bedrooms. 

“It felt good to say it publicly,” Voldemort admitted after a while. “I never got that opportunity.”

“You’re right, you should have thought of this sooner, while Daddy was still alive. It would have been therapeutic. It would have also resulted in our deaths.”

They both broke into giggles, like children sharing their first dick joke, as they imagined quiet, dignified Cygnus, who had adored and protected his eldest daughter fiercely, finding out about their dalliance. 

“Hopefully we didn’t scar Cissy too much.”

“Oh she’ll be fine, your sister’s had it too easy in life. A bit of a surprise never hurt anyone.”

“You _hate _surprises.”

“I hate surprise parties and stupid, self-sacrificing mothers that make my curses rebound. I would be alright if I accidentally bumped on your sister and Lucius naked.”

“No, you wouldn’t. That’s the reason I need to take lithium every day,” Bellatrix laughed. 

It was true, she had once found Narcissa and Lucius snogging in the formal gardens of their family home, and had punished Lucius’ naughty, breast-cupping hand appropriately. In reality, she had no problem with her sister getting hot and heavy with him, it was just an excellent excuse to hurt Lucius. 

They continued chuckling with laughter until they reached Bellatrix’ door. 

“Well,” Voldemort said confidently, “it will all be over soon. A bit of patience and then everyone will know.”

“That you like getting pegged?” 

“Quiet!”

Bellatrix laughed loudly, but soon sobered up and took his hand in his. 

“Well, I think we really should talk about this soon.”

“About the-?” 

He mouthed the word ‘pegging.’

“No, you idiot, I don’t mind it as long as it makes you happy. I meant about who will know about us and to what extent after the war is over. I just… I’m not too eager to be seen as a mere consort again.”

“I understand. I’m not eager to see you reduced to this function either,” Voldemort agreed, and kissed her hand. “We shall talk about this tomorrow- I’m sorry, do you have anything scheduled for tomorrow?” he said when Bella’s face fell. 

“Actually I was planning on inviting you to join me on my sister’s table again, tomorrow. As we were there today, I realised it’s the perfect height for someone of your stature to give me head.”

“How interesting! We must test this out, the sooner the better.”

“First I need to let my tailbone rest.”

“Also you need to go take your lithium.”

“It’s a deal.”

* * *

Narcissa guided Lucius to the bed like a small child. 

“Mitzi, take his shoes off and pass me his comb. And take the water goblet with you, he is in no position to consume liquids.”

“I can drink by myself!” Lucius piped up, as he struggled with his Death Eater robes buttons. 

“Of course you can, dear,” Narcissa agreed, pushing his fingers away gently and undressing him herself.

“Where… Where are we going, mon chou? Dinner with the Fudges?” asked Lucius, looking down at his pajamas vaguely.

“No, Lucius. I already told you, tonight we’re staying in. Go to sleep.”

She tucked him in like she used to tuck in Draco and for a moment the resemblance between father and son was impeccable. The sad fact, however, was that neither had looked this happy and relaxed in a while. 

Narcissa slipped under the bedcovers with a deep sigh. 

The Dark Lord’s Obliviate Charm had been so powerful, that Lucius at first would not recognise her at all. He tried to flirt with her and even got upset when she informed him she was married and mother to a nearly adult son. At least he was still very much attracted to her, she consoled herself. 

As she had that thought, Lucius pressed his face to hers.

“Want to snuggle?” 

It was not just that his cocked eyebrow reminded her of a teenaged boy trying to hit on her in the cringiest way possible, but also that any sort of physical affection gave her post traumatic stress after witnessing her sister with the Dark Lord doing-

“Not tonight, dear. But hopefully soon.”

“Hopefully? You don’t like me anymore?”

“Of course I love you, Lucius. I love you with all my heart.”

“Then why not?”

“I- I just can’t. Let’s get some sleep.”

Lucius’ heartbroken face (and probably blue balls) hurt Narcissa more than she liked to admit and she turned to her side, cursing Bellatrix under her breath.

But no, it was not Bella’s fault. Bella had always spoken a little crazy. It was the Dark Lord’s job to be the voice of reason. Yet in this case he had listened to her. And there could only be one reason for that. 

Damn.

Narcissa eyed her wand curiously, wondering whether Obliviating one’s self was possible. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk when this fic became crack, but there you have it. Hope you like it.

Narcissa stood before the full-body mirror of her boudoir, trying on new underwear ensembles. 

With Bellatrix staying at their parental estate for a few weeks in an unusual demonstration of sentimentalism (or as Bella had put it, “to decontaminate herself from the blonds”) and the Dark Lord travelling far away, her home was hers again, and she was planning on taking full advantage of that. 

Relaxing evenings before the fire, romantic dinners under candlelight and, finally, a sexy lingerie catwalk for Lucius, just so they could feel like themselves again. Not to mention that their pet peacocks could finally live in peace, without the fear of becoming snake snacks.

Narcissa hated to admit it, but she had been far happier before the Dark Lord had regained his body-

Of which body she now knew quite a few details about. 

Narcissa shuddered, but went on with evaluating her current outfit, a lovely, silver-threaded number that created the illusion of a rich décolletage. She would not let her sister and her bizarre taste in men ruin this much needed evening of dissolution.

“Madam,” a squeaky voice interrupted her musings. “Letter for you, madam.”

“Thank you, Mitzi,” Narcissa dismissed the elf without looking at her, for she had noticed the Black family coat of arms on the letter’s seal. Only one person in the world had the right to use this. 

She ripped the letter open. 

_My dear Cissy, _

_I hope you are enjoying the boring peace and quiet of my absence by riding Lucius dead. _

_I’m doing very well, despite the cold. Mostly I pas the time talking to Daddy’s portrait. _

_Your sister who loves you,_

_Bella_

Narcissa shook her head mirthfully. 

Affection and vulgarity in equal measures; yes, Bella was obviously feeling much better. She deposited the envelope at a nearby footstool, when something other than the letter fell out. 

It was a photograph, which showed-

Oh dear. 

Narcissa let the photo drop to the floor as if it had electrocuted her. The picture was of a woman’s legs spread wide, revealing her most intimate parts. Then, a man’s head would appear, tongue already sticking out, to offer his services. He would devote himself to this task with enthusiasm and skill, aided by the unmatched advantage of being noseless.

Narcissa watched with the corner of her eye the Dark Lord lead her sister to a shaking orgasm, teasing the tender folds of flesh mercilessly and, she hated to admit, in a way Lucius had never done to her. 

Oh yes, she was sure the woman was her sister, for only her sister could have a clitoral barbell with the Dark Mark chiseled on it. 

But this was not all. The surface on which her sister was offering herself up was her own dinner table. _Her_ table. The very same one where her _son_ ate dinner on! Draco's _hands_ could be touching it _right now_!

Did this mean that Bellatrix and the Dark Lord had been using her table for their 'lovemaking' consistently? Maybe even before she had caught them fucking on it months ago?

Bella had sworn it had been in the heat of the moment and would never ever happen again!

She felt sick to her stomach.

Narcissa fished the letter from the floor and wrote on the back:

_Point taken. Maybe being noseless isn’t so bad after all. Now please never mention this again. _

_Cissy_

_PS: I shall be burning the photograph and the table._

She did not burn the photograph. On the contrary, she continued studying it for a long time, taking notes, which would be soon mailed to Lucius. 

If this were a documentary, in the credits it would say (cue the sad music):

Narcissa never managed to burn the table, because Bella couldn't bear the thought of the place where the Dark Lord's child was conceived on going down in flames.

Lucius' services never matched the wonders of the Dark Lord's noseless expertise. Narcissa loved him anyway. 

Bella's reason for retreating to her parental estate turned out blonde anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I being mean to Lucius? The real question however, is, why be nice to Lucius. 
> 
> This was written for all the jerks who make fun of Voldemort's appearance, myself included. It gives him an evolutionary advantage in bed, we like it or not. 
> 
> Have a good day.


End file.
